


how many miles (show me)

by notquiteaghost



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Greyromantic Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash is really, <em>really</em> fucked up.</p><p>It should probably be putting Tucker off.</p><p>It's not really putting Tucker off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how many miles (show me)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 'sloppy seconds' by watsky.
> 
> i do not have PTSD, so if i fucked up at all, please let me know.
> 
>  **warnings** : description of dissociation/depersonalisation (wash; post-epsilon shit), self-worth issues (still wash), very vague/brief mentions of PTSD (still wash), one very vague/brief allusion to self-harm. if i've missed anything, hmu.

Wash is fucked up.

Like, seriously. _Really_ fucked up. Tucker's seen his fair share of crazy - it's the goddamn army, they've all got their demons - but Wash is something else.

Wash is night terrors, panic attacks, shaking hands. Wash is paranoid to the point of borderline delusional. Wash is really, _really_ fucked up.

It should probably be putting Tucker off.

It's not really putting Tucker off.

Tucker's used to crazy - again, it's the goddamn army, he wouldn't have any friends if he couldn't handle crazy. Tucker's also a walking, talking ball of commitment issues, though. That's what's really worrying him here.

"I don't date people!" He says, "I don't get crushes, I don't dream about some picket-fence life with kids and a joint bank account, I don't even fuck most people more than once! I hate commitment! Commitment is terrifying!"

"Y'know, if you keep shouting, Agent Washington might hear you." Caboose says, helpfully. It makes it sound like he wasn't listening, but Tucker knows he just has different priorities. Or a different grasp of social conventions. He's not very good at conventional conversation, but his heart's in the right place.

Tucker deflates. "I-- Thanks, Caboose."

"That's okay. Agent Washington is kind of scary, but I like him too. I understand. It can be confusing."

"You like him as a friend, though. It's different." Tucker says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and resisting the urge to look around and check Wash isn't standing just behind him. God, he hopes paranoid isn't catching.

"But still confusing."

"Yeah." Tucker nods. "But still confusing."

Caboose nods back, and thinks for a moment before he says, "Whenever things get confusing, I just think about something else. That way, I stop being confused. Do you want to help me teach Freckles to play hide and seek? Agent Washington always says he has 'more important things to do', so he shouldn't bother us. You can forget about how confusing he is for a while."

"That... actually sounds nice." Tucker smiles, remembering why it was he started to ramble to Caboose about this in the first place. "Thanks."

"No problem! Hide and seek is no fun with only two people. C'mon, Freckles is outside."

\---

"Caboose mentioned you're having a crisis."

Tucker raises an eyebrow, even though the effect is somewhat ruined by his helmet. 

Grif has been living in close proximity with Simmons for years now, though, so ae's gotten pretty good at reading facial expressions through a visor. Tucker's pretty sure Grif gets the message loud and clear.

"Really? Were those his exact words?"

"Nah, he actually said something about how you keep staring at Wash like he gave you a puppy and then kicked it. I'm translating."

"Right. And why do you care?"

Grif huffs, crossing aer arms and levelling Tucker a look. "Because, for one thing, the walls around here are not very thick, and you and Wash shout really loud. And for another, moping is not a good look on anybody. It's just sad. And I do like you, sorta. I like Caboose, anyway, and he gets, like, sad by osmosis. He's sad enough without the help."

"...Where are you going with this?"

" _And_ , if I actually understood what Caboose was saying, I think I'm the only person in this god forsaken place qualified to help you."

Tucker blinks, surprised. When Grif asked to talk to him in private, he was expecting something more along the lines of 'Want to help me prank Simmons?'. "You what?"

"You're having a crisis about Wash, right? How he's all messed up in the head and you still want to kiss him? How you never actually thought you even had romantic feelings, for anyone, ever, and yet you _still_ want to kiss him? And hold his hand? And stare into his eyes?"

This is definitely not what Tucker was expecting from Grif. At all. Ever.

Also, fucking dammit, ae's spot-on.

"...Yeah." Tucker admits, reluctantly. 

Grif slaps him on the back. "Welcome to the club!"

Tucker resists the urge to blink in surprise again. 

And then has to take a second to wrap his head around the idea that other people are like this too, and that he's not broken. 

Huh.

"That is-- surprisingly comforting."

"Misery loves company." Grif grins. "Now, I know Blue's got, like, a million percent more shit going on because the universe hates you or something, but us Reds are fucked in the head too. Simmons ever mention he's part robot?"

Tucker shakes his head. He'd definitely remember that.

"It's-- Well, okay, it's not so much of a recent thing anymore, but he wasn't born like that. And, as you can probably imagine, becoming part robot fucked him up. A lot. Also, he's just, like, fucked up anyway. Like, his head works against him. Anxiety and all that. It's something we have in common, actually."

"Wait, _you_ have anxiety?"

"Nah, I have OCD. 'Cause that's more ironic, see, and the universe loves that shit. But that's not the point." Grif pauses. "Well, actually, yeah, that's kinda the point. Like, he's fucked up, I'm fucked up, we're fucked up together, it's a whole thing."

"Are you saying I should... bond with Wash over being fucked in the head...?" 

It also sounds like ae is saying Tucker's crazy, which Tucker wants to argue against, but really, what's the point? It's not like Grif's going to hold it against him. They're getting worryingly easy with emotional vulnerability.

"Well, when you put it like that, it just sounds stupid."

"It's kinda stupid, dude."

Grif huffs. "I'm not saying you need to, I dunno, cling to each other and sob or whatever. Though crying is healthy and you should totally roll with it if it ever happens. But what I _am_ saying, is that you should use your first-hand knowledge of post-traumatic stress to your advantage. He has nightmares and panic attacks and stuff a lot, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he doesn't have to suffer alone. You're on his team. Be there for him and shit."

Tucker swallows. "...That's--" Terrifying.

"Kinda terrifying, I know. But emotional vulnerability's like ripping off a band-aid - you just gotta get it over with. Also, notice I have been completely ignoring your romantic identity crisis. That's because, right now, ignoring it is actually the best course of action."

Frowning, Tucker remembers every lecture Doc has ever given on the dangers of repressing your feelings. There were a lot. Though Tucker did, admittedly, tune most of them out. "That doesn't actually sound that healthy."

"No, it is, trust me on this one.” Grif says, looking at Tucker seriously. “If you try and address all problems at once, you'll just get confused and overwhelmed and end up barricading yourself into the bathroom for four days. I am speaking from experience."

Tucker gives aer a look. "Hey, man, if you ever need to talk..."

"Nah, don't worry about me. That was years ago, I'm all better now. Mostly.” Ae shrugs. “I've got Simmons now, anyway. That helps." 

"Right."

"But, anyway. Wash is in a shit place right now, but shit gets better, and support networks are, like, the best thing ever. So, be his support network, yeah? Except don't try and fix him all by yourself, because that is unhealthy. Balance is important."

"Right."

Grif claps him on the shoulder. "Glad we had this talk! I'm gonna take a nap now. Emotions are fucking _exhausting_." And ae lopes back off towards aer base, leaving Tucker standing by the cliff, feeling-- he doesn't really know what he's feeling.

A nap sounds pretty good right now, though, that's for sure.

\---

'Be there for him' is, unsurprisingly, a lot easier said than done.

Wash isn't exactly the most emotionally available person around. And he has good reason for that, Tucker knows, but that doesn't make it a good thing. Not all coping methods are healthy.

And Wash is apparently even worse at coping methods than most, because his solution to night terrors is, apparently, to just give up on sleeping altogether.

"It's three in the morning." 

"Yeah? _You're_ awake."

"I'm getting a drink of water. I woke up thirsty." Tucker points an accusatory finger at Wash, who's sitting at the makeshift table in their makeshift kitchen, still wearing all of his armour, bar his helmet. "You, however, haven't even made it to your bed yet."

Wash doesn't say anything, just shifts awkwardly. Tucker sighs.

"Look, I get you're not sleeping too good, but seriously, skipping out on it all together isn't a solution. You need sleep! You are no good to us sleep-deprived!"

"I--"

"I swear to God, if you say you're fine, I'm throwing this," he waves the metal flask that's serving as a glass, "at your head!"

"--You don't have to worry about me." Wash says, his tone weary. "Alright, I'm not fine, but I'm as near as I can get. I'm getting by, okay? I've been doing it for years, I'm used to it."

There's a pause. Wash looks so _defeated_ , and Tucker has no idea what to do, what to say, what on earth could possibly help. Wash shouldn't be used to it, he shouldn't have to settle for getting by, that isn't _fair_.

But telling Wash that isn't helpful. Tucker's pretty sure Wash knows that already.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Wash looks surprised at Tucker’s question, and seriously, Tucker is gonna find out who left him to suffer on his own when they should have been offering help and he is going to _hurt_ them. 

...Providing they're still alive, of course. 

"Like, I dunno, you wanna talk about it?" Unsurprisingly, Wash shakes his head. "Wanna spar? Play cards? Cuddle?"

Wash's cheeks flush at that last suggestion, which is interesting, to say the least. Tucker wasn't actually sure Wash could blush at all. He's pale as fuck, but he's also got that whole stoic thing down pat. 

"Okay, see, I was joking, but. _Do_ you wanna cuddle? Because I'm up for it, if you are. We don't have to talk about it, or mention it, or even think about it, but if it'd help you sleep, well. I'll suffer through some cuddling if it means you don't get sleep-deprived to the point of hallucinating."

"I..." Wash swallows. "If you promise not to hold it against me, then yes."

"Great!" Tucker says, biting back any comments he could make about holding things against Wash, because now is decidedly not the time, dammit. 

\---

It turns out Wash is really clingy when he's asleep, which says a few really telling things about how much he actually values physical contact, for all he spouts about not liking being touched.

Tucker doesn't mind. As awkward as it's probably going to be in the morning, when Wash wakes up and realises he spent the night sprawled across Tucker's chest, it's nice right now. Cosy.

And Tucker is a light sleeper. Always has been, though being in the army-- being in that fucking desert and being constantly on edge that someone's going to shoot him has certainly ratcheted it up a notch. 

Meaning when Wash jerks awake with a choked off scream only a couple hours after he'd managed to drift off, Tucker jerks awake too, and he's already got his arms around Wash, so it's easy enough to pull him closer and make gentle soothing noises.

Wash doesn't say anything. His eyes are wide, scared and almost vacant, like he's not entirely there. He's breathing hard. His hands are clenched into tight fists. He's trembling.

Tucker runs a hand over his back, says, "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm here, I've got you, you're safe. You're safe, yeah? No one's gonna get you, not when I'm here, it's alright. It's alright. I've got you."

He talks until Wash stops shaking like a leaf, talks for so long he loses track of what he's even saying, mindless comforting repetition. 

Eventually, Wash pulls away, just a bit. His eyes are still wide, not quite as scared but still that weird almost-vacant. He shakes in a breath, then, on the equally shaky exhale, says, "Thanks."

"Anytime, man." Tucker replies, with a smile. 

And Wash goes to put some space between them - not that there's really anywhere for him to go, seeing as they're sleeping on a tiny bunk bed they pulled out of the ship - but Tucker just raises one incredulous eyebrow and pulls him close again. 

After that, Wash sleeps soundly. Well, for a given definition of soundly. He doesn't wake up screaming again, anyway.

Which, considering that ‘not waking up screaming’ is about as close to ‘soundly’ as Wash is going to get right now: Mission accomplished.

\---

They end up developing a routine, sort of. 

The next night, Wash attempts to slip off into the kitchen again, like Tucker's not going to notice him as long as he's sneaky. Idiot.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

Wash freezes. "Uh. To get a drink?"

"Mhmm." Tucker says. "Now, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but seriously - was last night the best night's sleep you've had in years?"

Tucker can't tell for sure because Wash is still wearing his helmet, but he'd bet good money that Wash is blushing. "...Yeah."

"And you're really trying to sneak off and spent the night in the kitchen instead of getting the second best night's sleep you've had? _Really_?"

"I-- You don't mind?"

 _I swear, one day I'm going to find out who fucked you up and then I'm going to make them pay_ , is what Tucker does not say, as much as he wants to. For all he knows, it'd spook Wash into locking himself into the bathroom, or something.

"I don't mind." is what Tucker does say. "Seriously."

And that, for the most part, is that.

\---

A week of night-time cuddling with intermittent post-nightmare comforting goes by before they talk about it.

It's early in the morning, before anyone else is even awake, because Wash gets up at ass o'clock and it's a lot harder to ignore him in favour of sleeping when they're sharing a bed. The first sun's just coming up (this planet has three, which is equal parts cool and annoying. It gets _so bright_ ), and they're sat on top of their base, eating breakfast, because if Tucker is being forced to get up this fucking early then he's at least going to enjoy it, dammit.

"Are we going to talk, at any point?"

Tucker's surprised at Wash's question, but he does his best not to show it. "I dunno. Do you want to talk?"

"I... don't know."

Tucker looks at Wash. He's staring into the distance, looking very pensive and dramatic. It'd make a pretty good picture, but Tucker doesn't have a camera to hand - they'd both left their helmets inside. Wash isn't even wearing his armour, for once.

"Well, you let me know." Tucker says, and they lapse back into companionable silence.

It lasts for another few minutes, long enough for Tucker to finish his coffee, before Wash speaks up again. "I'm... I'm not very good at talking. But North always used to badger me into it, and it helped, kind of. I..." He sighs.

Tucker doesn't say anything, lets him get there on his own. If Wash is willingly bringing up dead Freelancers, this is going to get emotional.

"I have trouble telling what's real, sometimes." Wash breathes out, like a confession. Like he's never admitted that out loud before. "It's-- After Epsilon, immediately after, there was-- There was a lot. Memories. Someone else's memories, someone else's pain, someone else's lies and hallucinations... It all blurred together.” Wash pauses, swallows, says so quietly Tucker almost doesn’t hear him, “It got hard to tell them apart."

He’s rubbing at his wrist with the palm of his hand while he talks. It looks like a nervous habit, like he's not entirely aware he's doing it. Tucker can connect the dots, can imagine the kind of things Wash might have done to try and ground himself. Doesn’t particularly want to imagine them. God.

"It got _really_ hard." Wash whispers. "I was a wreck. North and York were there, they helped, but I was a mess. For _months_. And it's-- I'm still a mess. I'm better, but," he huffs a bitter laugh, "that's not really saying a lot."

Tucker frowns. "Hey, no. You're doing great."

But Wash shakes his head. "I'm paranoid almost to the point of delusional, I wake screaming from nightmares on an almost nightly basis, half the time I don't recognise myself in the mirror-- Hell, if it wasn't for you I'd still be sleeping in my armour--"

"Wash,” Tucker interrupts, his tone as gentle as he can make it. As wrong as Wash is right now, shouting at him isn’t going to help any. “Honestly? I'm impressed you even got out of bed. I'm impressed you're still here at all.” He smiles wryly. “God knows I wouldn't be able to do that."

Wash doesn’t have a reply for that.

And Tucker doesn’t really know what else to say, he’s not good at this kind of thing, but it feels like he should still be talking, so he just kind of stumbles on hopefully. “I don’t-- I don’t give a shit that you’re fucked up, alright? It’s not like I can really pick and choose my friends, and I’m not really in a position to judge, and I’d probably like you even if we weren’t stuck on this God forsaken planet together.” He looks Wash in the eye, hoping he’s getting across just how serious he’s being right now. “I like you, Wash. I really do. Even the messed up parts.”

“I…” Wash looks surprised. Well, no, surprised isn’t the right word. Taken aback. Bewildered. Like he’s having trouble processing what Tucker said. 

Tucker gets the feeling he’s going to be repeating himself a lot.

“I like you too.” Wash says, eventually. Tucker grins.

“Great! I’m glad we had this talk.” Standing up, Tucker stretches, feeling his joints click in protest. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go play fetch with a giant murder robot. That was more than enough emotions for one day.”

Wash ducks his head, grinning, and turns his attention back to his half-eaten, forgotten breakfast as Tucker makes his way down from the roof and heads off to see if Caboose is awake yet.

**Author's Note:**

> i am [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr. if you liked this fic, please [click my pokefarm eggs](http://pokefarm.com/user/notquiteaghost).
> 
> just so i've said it: i'm aromantic, & i REALLY don't want this fic to present the idea that aromanticism isn't a thing & everyone falls in romantic love eventually. that is complete & utter bullshit. if i ever write more of this 'verse, i will definitely address the complicated nature of tucker's feelings for wash & how they relate to his identity. because they are complicated feelings, this is not a clear cut 'i met The One & i'm alloromantic now' thing, that's not how people work, people are messy. rant over.
> 
> also, i rly like this 'verse, but writing is Super Mega Hard right now, so i'm not promising anything more. this bit is finished & im proud of it so im posting it, but it's in no way a guarantee. & comments saying you'd love to read more are great, i appreciate the sentiment, but. i'm busy & fucked in the head & would appreciate not being pressured, thank you.
> 
> that was a lot more Serious Shit than usual, so, also also, thank you for reading! you are great & i appreciate you a lot.


End file.
